


The Demon and The Witch (Or How Crowley Lost A Human and Found Her Again By No Fault Of His Own).

by RichieIsABastardMan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Platonic aziraphale/reader, Reader-Insert, Witches, witch reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieIsABastardMan/pseuds/RichieIsABastardMan
Summary: In 1519, your ancestor made a deal with a demon that protected your family for eternity. In return, your family devoted themselves to the demon Crowley. When Crowley loses track of your family suddenly and without reason, he panics. Decades later, you walk into a little bookstore owned by a kind man. When you are introduced to his tall, red-headed friend, you can't help but think that fate had brought the two of you (back) together.
Relationships: Crowley (Good Omens) & Reader, Crowley (Good Omens)/Reader, Crowley (Good Omens)/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	1. The first meeting.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long series that eventually leads to a relationship between Crowley and the reader. Any witch references etc. is probably not in line with how witches work within the show/book, but for the sake of the story I wanted to create my own lore. Hopefully you guys enjoy slow burns (though not really because there's already so much tension in this first chapter between the two of them).

In the year 1519, Anthony J. Crowley, at that time only known by the latter part of his name, walked into a forest far from the hustle of the London streets in which he usually roamed. It had been night, and therefore dark, and the growth of the trees above him had meant that the light of the moon could not guide his path. This was no matter, of course, as he was not a mere mortal. It was, however, a slight inconvenience. Despite being a demon, he did quite enjoy a bit of light to guide his journey, if not purely for the symbolism.

He had been summoned to the forest in a traditional, witchy sort of way. The way that involved candles and incense and incessant chanting. He had appreciated the effort the summoner had put into the ordeal, even though it was not at all necessary. A letter to his home would have worked just as well. 

Still, he continued walking, the mud and muck beneath his shoes producing a squelching sound that he wasn’t very fond of. The night was freezing, but Crowley could sense the warmth of a bonfire as he neared a clearing.

A woman stood next to the fire, holding her hands together in front of her person, rubbing them together nervously. Crowley could feel her fear. It radiated off of her in waves that he was sure demons and angels alike could feel for miles. Regular humans would not exude such a strong energy. 

As he expected, the woman was a witch. 

As he walked closer to the fire he stepped on a thin branch and the sound of it cracking in half echoed through the woods. “Dammit” he whispered. Crowley had always had a flare for the dramatic and preferred a traditional, ominous entrance to any meeting he attended.

“Demon? Show yourself to me!” the woman yelled.

“Alright, alright I’m here no need to yell” Crowley replied, pushing away a branch to step into the brightly lit clearing where the woman stood. 

“Are you the demon Crowley?” she asked, her eyes examining his thin frame and curled, long hair. His features were angular, but in no way demonic. He could sense her sizing him up and smiled. 

“Indeed I am” he replied.

“You look fairly...human” she stated cautiously. 

The demon reached for his sunglasses, removing them to reveal bright yellow irises surrounding a slitted pupil. The woman gasped lightly before nodding to herself, attempting to calm her rapid breath. “I see”.

“Haven’t done much demon work, I take it?” Crowley said, beginning to circle the bonfire which sat in the middle of the clearing. The woman moved away from him, slowly walking further around the bonfire in order to avoid any close proximity to the demon. 

“I’m desperate” she admitted, almost whispering.

“Why?” Crowley returned.

“The town speaks of witches and witchcraft” she said, her chest heaving with her heavy, fearful breaths.

“Oh, do they? I wonder why?” Crowley responded, gaze fixated on the circle of candles, herbs and crystals that surrounded the bonfire. “You could be a bit more discreet”.

“It is my heritage. My birthright. Who am I to deny it?” She spoke and Crowley pursed his lips in thought before nodding his head.

“I suppose” He replied.

“I was caught” she explained “I was caught with certain books and herbs and sigils”.

“Oh, not sigils. You can never get caught with sigils” Crowley said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“I fear they may wish to kill me” she said.

“What do you want me to do about it” Crowley replied. 

“Protect me. Guide me. Enhance my practice. Care for me.” She had stopped moving away from him, instead facing him on the other side of the bonfire. She stared into his eyes, refusing to break her gaze despite their snakish appearance. Her fear had all but dissipated as she propositioned the demon. He had to admit, her bravery charmed him just a little. Human bravery always did.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked. 

“My soul”

“Pfft.” Crowley huffed, rolling his eyes at her offer. 

“My devotion for eternity”

“The issue with that, is that you are merely mortal” he sang slightly. 

“My devotion for eternity through my daughter, and my daughter’s daughter, and her daughter’s daughter, until the end of time or the end of family’s line” the woman explained. 

Crowley’s interest suddenly peaked. He was quite fond of human devotion, though he would never admit it. Not just devotion to him (though there was a period in ancient Greece where a temple was built in his honour and he had a small following of cultists that his ego quite enjoyed), but human devotion in general. 

The willingness of a human to throw themselves into the fire for a cause. To martyr oneself, to put one’s life on the line for another, the brotherhood of man as it was later called. Of course, this sort of action also led its way to things a bit more sinister, such as the willingness to kill others for one’s cause, an issue that was present for the woman currently pleading with him. 

The thought of generations of young witch women devoting their life and practice to him lit something within him. He was sure that the fire behind his eyes was visible to the witch lady, as she took a step back from him. 

“It’s a deal,” he said, smiling at the woman. She withdrew herself further. 

“How do we seal it” the woman asked, her hands once again hovering in front of her and rubbing together in a nervous gesture. 

“Like all good deals - with a kiss” Crowley smirked, but dropped his lips quickly when he saw the terror upon the woman’s face. “Though I am happy to settle for a handshake”. 

~~~

And so Crowley kept his end of the deal, as all good demons do. He thwarted the interest of the local puritans from the woman, allowing her to continue her practice in peace and without fear of persecution. When she birthed a daughter, and taught her daughter the craft, Crowley watched over her too. He had seen her first steps, her first words and her first marriage. Great Uncle Crowley, as he was called by the youngin, was worshipped in modern ways by the family. The small child would bring him flowers she had picked from her garden and he would accept them happily. Her mother would bring him alcohol and he would accept it ecstatically. In return, the demon would bless their ventures and punish those who wished to harm them.

As generations were born and eventually birthed more children, they began to forget their heritage and their promise. They also began to forget Crowley. 

Despite this, Crowley did not forget them.

Whilst he was a demon, he was not one to break an eternal pact. That would defeat the purpose, he supposed, of the  _ eternal _ part of the pact. He continued to watch the women grow and bring forth more children. More importantly he watched them survive and thrive within the world. He watched the women birth world leaders, revolution starters and martyrs. He helped them where he could, however they generally appeared to get along quite well for themselves. 

Until one day, on a sunny afternoon in 1923 - after centuries of watching after the children of the witch, he lost track of them. 

Crowley had driven over to Edinburgh to do a quick miracle for his angel, Aziraphale. On return, he had planned to check in again on his girls. Sitting within Aziraphale’s bookstore, holding tightly onto a cup of tea and swirling the spoon within the cooling mixture softly, the sound of the teaspoon hitting the sides of the china lulled his eyes to a close. Aziraphale was looking at him disapprovingly for his rudeness, however his stare was missed by the demon. Crowley focused his energy on his mind’s eye, chanting a quiet mantra to himself. 

On previous occasions of using such a technique, he would feel his spirit shift from within the earthly body he possessed to engulfing all that was and ever will be. He became the teacup he held, the seat in which he sat. He also became the sky, the sea, the Thames. Importantly, he became the women in which he had agreed to shelter. He saw what they saw, felt what they felt, knew what they knew. He would know where they were, who they were with and what they were doing. He could keep tabs on them in order to help them where he could,and in order to keep his word on the pact in which he had agreed. 

And so he became the tea cup, and the chair, and the sky and the sea and the Thames, and as he shifted his focus on finding the women, he could not find them. Not anywhere on Earth at least.

“Huh” Crowley spoke, opening his eyes slowly.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale questioned, his reading glasses covering his curious gaze which was fixed upon the demon. He did not need the glasses of course, but he felt a sort of comfort in their weight upon his nose. 

“I can’t find her” Crowley said, eyebrows furrowed in concern. For a moment he thought that, perhaps, she had died. Upon this thought, he further realised that even if she had died, he still would have known  _ where  _ she was. No she was not dead. She had just sort of vanished. She had disappeared off of his radar. 

A wave of panic ran down his slim body, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. He had never had goosebumps before. He had also never lost a human before. He supposed there were first times for everything. 

“Well, where is she?” Aziraphale asked, voice laced slightly with concern. The girl was not, of course, his concern. However, a human disappearing from the gaze of any non-human being was unheard of. 

“I dont….know” the demon spoke. He looked up at Aziraphale, and for the first time in the nearly six thousand years he had known the angel, his face displayed human signals of fear.

“Surely she’s somewhere. Would you like me to have a look? I’m happy to-”

“No angel you don’t understand. I’ve been watching this family for centuries. I’ve known where they are, what they’re thinking, who they’re with, what they’re doing. Their needs, their wants, their hates. I’ve never lost them, Aziraphale. Something is very wrong”.

~

Very few witches by blood are currently aware that they are witches. Often the ritualistic aspect of the craft is lost throughout generations, resulting in plenty of born-witches but very few practising witches. 

You were not aware of your heritage. You were also not aware of your ancestor’s eternal pact with a certain demon. You were further not aware that said demon had been searching for your family for decades. All of these things you were very much not aware of when you walked into Mr. Fell’s bookstore a month ago. Since your first meeting with the man (where he had nearly tackled you for attempting to buy one of his books), the two of you had become close companions and had easily fallen into a quaint routine. You went to your university classes during the day, and in the evenings you would come visit the older man, helping him sort out his mess of a store.

It was strange to you how quickly the two of you had become close, especially considering the considerable age gap between the two of you. However, you supposed the man was quite lonely all by himself within the shop. He told you he had a friend who usually visited him, however he was out of town for a few weeks trying to find an old friend. You had told him you were happy to take his place for a while and Mr. Fell was glad for it. 

“Mr. Fell~” you sang as you entered the store, peaking your head around the store to find the older man. 

After stumbling upon his store the month before, you had been drawn inside by the eeriness of the building. It was old and creeped you out slightly, however the inside had a warm, comforting vibe that you could only credit to the angelic looking man who owned the store. 

You heard Mr. Fell sing your name back to you from the backroom of the store, where he was surely sitting with a book and having tea after a long day of avoiding trade. You skipped slightly to follow the voice, spinning yourself as you entered the back room. 

“Oh Mr. Fell I’ve had the strangest day you won’t belie-” you stopped yourself, your gaze locking onto the slim, tall, sunglasses-wearing man who sat in your usual seat. 

You smiled, embarrassed by your antics that this stranger had just had to witness. He smiled back curiously, refusing to break the gaze the two of you held. 

“Hi” you tried to say, but it came out as barely a whisper. 

“Hi” he returned, smirking and much more confident in his delivery. His arm was draped across the back of the lounge in which he sat, his ankle resting on the knee of his opposite leg. He exuded a confidence you had never felt from another man before. It was otherworldly.

You realised that this must have been the friend Mr. Fell was missing. 

Mr. Fell cleared his throat from where he sat behind you and you spun around, smiling sheepishly at him. “I didn’t realise you had a guest, I wouldn’t have come-”

“Oh no dear! Don’t you worry. Mr. Crowley was just leaving”. 

Crowley, you repeated his name within your mind.

_ Crowley. _

Why did that sound familiar to you. 

CrOwLeY.

_ Oh! _ , you thought,  _ that was the name of that occultist. _ You had just been reading a book on the occult that Mr. Fell had lent you, that must have been where you spotted the name.  _ A slightly spooky coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless _ , you thought.

Your train of thought was halted by the sound of the stranger standing up behind you, beginning to leave the backroom. 

“Wait!” you practically yelled “You don’t have to leave on my account, Mr. Crowley! Please, stay”. You hadn’t meant it to sound so desperate, yet the need within your voice was clearly not lost to the man. He smiled at you, and then looked up at Mr. Fell. 

You supposed Mr. Fell must have gestured for him to sit back down, because he did, inviting you to sit beside him. You, of course, had missed this gesture as your eyes had not left the tall man, whose hair (you had just realised) was a wonderful red colour. 

“Would you care for some tea, my dear” Mr. Fell offered.

“Or perhaps some wine” Crowley offered, raising an eyebrow and pouting his lips slightly. He held the bottle within his hands and shook it slightly, tempting you with it’s contents. 

“Oh surely not-” Mr. Fell began, giving Crowley a pointed look but he was interrupted by your exclamation.

“I wouldn’t mind some wine”. And so Crowley poured you a glass and watched as you took your first sip, smiling for the nth time at your little hum of pleasure at the taste.

“I suppose I will put this away then” Mr. Fell mumbled, packing his tea-set up and leaving to place it in another room.

You hummed at your friend’s statement, not completely sure what he had said. If you had, you would have felt quite bad for rejecting your friend's offer of tea, as it was somewhat of a tradition for the two of you to have tea together every afternoon. 

But you were once again lost in learning every crevice and curve of your new friends face. You wished you could see his eyes, which were hidden behind a pair of thick, dark sunglasses. You always had your imagination, you supposed. You suspected they were a bright amber in the light of the sun and a deep brown in the light of the moon. 

You wondered why he kept the glasses on inside. Was it the fluorescent lighting? Perhaps he had horrible migraines because of the lighting. How inconsiderate of Mr. Fell to not turn off the lights for the sake of this poor, poor man. Though the more you thought about it, you were sure Mr. Fell would be on top of something like that. He was not one to revel in others’ misfortune or discomfort. He was a lovely man. 

“So, how do you know Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, resting his elbow on the back of the lounge to face you properly. 

“Azira...Oh! Is that his first name? Azira. A-ZIR-AH. Huh. That’s very pretty. Is it hebrew?” you asked but the man ignored your question. 

“I suppose you only know him as Mr. Fell then” he said and you nodded your head, taking another large sip of wine.

“Oh yes. He never told me his full name. I’m not sure why. I never really questioned it” you rambled and the man watched you intently, smiling again when you took another large sip of wine. “I met him in this shop” you explained “I came in here and chatted with him. It’s funny, I’m not the chatting type..”.

“No?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, teasing you slightly.

“No” you smiled back, blushing slightly and embarrassed by your rambling “but Mr. Fell is very easy to talk to. He knows a lot about everything”. 

“That he does” the man said “With all these books that he reads, I’d hope so”. Crowley’s gaze left yours momentarily to admire the vast amount of books that surrounded the two of you. 

“What was your first name?” you slurred, only then realising how quickly the wine had hit you. You raised the glass to your mouth once again to take another sip, only to find the glass was empty. Crowley chuckled at your actions before placing his hand around your hand that held the glass to steady it, and then filling the glass. 

“My names Anthony” he said, placing the bottle of wine back onto the table after refilling his own glass. 

“Anthony Crowley” you repeated, swirling the wine in your glass.

“Technically Anthony J. Crowley” he corrected.

“What’s the J stand for?” you asked, pouting slightly. 

“Just a J” he replied and you furrowed your brows before humming, shrugging your shoulders at this strange man’s even stranger name. 

Crowley observed your features as you gazed around the room, appreciating the store more in your state of intoxication. That wine was far too strong, you thought. Maybe it was moonshine.

You felt his gaze upon you, but being too drunk to be flushed, you continued to act as though you had not noticed, allowing him to stare at you a little longer than what would be considered normal curious gazing one partakes in when they meet someone new. Your lack of reciprocal staring (and your slight intoxication) meant that you did not realise he was staring at you for more than the reason you assumed. He stared at you like he was trying to put a name to face. He gazed as though he was sure he had seen you somewhere before, but he wasn’t sure where. 

He was trying to recognise you, and yet he had just met you. 

“I hope you aren’t irritating my poor human friend, Crowley” Aziraphale said as he trotted back into the room, seating himself once again in his chair. 

At the fault of the alcohol in your system, you laughed a little too hard at Mr. Fell referring to you as a human friend. The man spoke so oddly, it seemed like he was from a different time. Or an alien. Or an alien from a different time. You continued to chuckle, spilling a bit of wine from your glass onto the ground in the process.

“Oh no!” you pouted, staring sadly at the puddle on the floor of your friend's bookstore. 

Aziraphale stared angrily at Crowley, a silent accusation against the demon. Crowley raised his hands in his defence, a gesture meaning to signify that he played no part in your current intoxication, and that it was of your own free will that you had decided to partake in such drinking activity. The angel however did not budge, his gaze practically burning holes into the demon.

“Would you like me to drive her home?” Crowley sighed.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Crowley” Aziraphale stated sternly in a voice you had only heard once (a few weeks ago, when a man had refused to stand down when Aziraphale rejected his monetary offer for a book he was particularly fond of). 

  
  


~

“Oh I LOVE Queen” you slurred, staring at the collection of tapes within the man’s car. He drove a Bentley - which had you not been so drunk, you may have appreciated more. 

“Well I’ve got a lot of it in here, so you’re practically in Heaven I suppose” he said, and then shivered slightly at his use of the word Heaven. This was lost to you of course, as you were intently analysing the back of one of his tape’s cases. “You are quite a light weight” he said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song that played softly from the speakers.

“Always have been” you asserted, staring at him from the passenger's seat of the car. “It’s almost magical how quickly alcohol affects me”.

It is a little known fact that witches have a dominant gene that makes them intolerant to alcohol. This intolerance is often overlooked by witches (especially those who aren’t aware that they are witches) as it manifests itself in a slight flush of the skin, and the extremely quick absorption of alcohol into the bloodstream. Crowley was aware of this genetic fact, of course, after many years of watching witches get hammered during rituals. His application of this to you, however, was absent, as he was too busy admiring your soft hair and skin and the pink tinge on your lips from the wine you had been drinking. 

“Mmm” Crowley hummed, smiling at you. His smile was different from the ones he had graced you with within the shop. Those had been more cunning and slightly sly. This smile was genuine. You supposed it would reach his eyes, if you could see them. 

You watched him look down towards your chest and you chuckled “Eyes are up here, Mr. Crowley”.

The man was startled, mouth agape at your accusation as he shook his head. “Oh no. No, no, no. I wasn’t-. That wasn’t-.” He huffed, closing his mouth before speaking again “I was looking at your necklace”.

You looked down to the necklace that hung low on your chest, just above your cleavage. It was a gold circle, with engravings all along the edges and one large engraving in the middle. “Oh, this old thing” you said, rolling it between your fingers “it’s from my Great-Grandma”.

“Family heirloom?” Crowley asked and you shook your head.

“I mean sort of. My mum told me, when she gave it to me, that Great-Grandma had been given it by some lady who lived in her neighbourhood when she was a child. The lady said it was to look after her - to ward off evil”. 

Crowley stared at the jewelry, observing the writing that had been etched deeply into the gold. “Do you know what the writing is?” Crowley asked. It was old, some ancient language definitely. However the markings were not familiar to the demon at all, and he had been around for the creation of language itself. Goosebumps raised upon the demon’s skin for the first time in a long time.

“No clue” you replied, staring at the jewellery once again. “I’ve been trying to find out actually. I’ve been looking through a lot of the books at Mr. Fell’s shop, but I haven’t had any luck yet”.

Crowley didn’t reply. Instead, he listened to your light humming to the songs that played on his radio and tried to calm the anxiety he felt rising within his mind and body. 

_ It probably isn’t even a language,  _ he thought,  _ it’s probably just scribbles and decoration.  _

And if it was anything, surely the angel would have said something. He had been friends with the girl for weeks and he would have definitely seen the necklace at some point during that time. 

Crowley began to calm at this thought, a smile coming onto his lips as he heard you belting out the intro to bohemian rhapsody, clearly still drunk.


	2. Heaven is a place on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale does some research on the engravings on your necklace, whilst you and Crowley dine at The Ritz.

“A necklace?” Aziraphale repeated. 

He and Crowley were sitting in the backroom of the bookstore later that evening after Crowley had dropped you off at your home. He had helped you out of the passenger seat, as you weren’t capable of getting yourself out, and led you by your arm to your front door. You had given him a clumsy smile as thanks and led yourself into your house, slightly hoping the older man would follow you in. He didn’t, and that was probably for the best, as you had collapsed onto your lounge immediately and fallen sound asleep. 

“Yes, a necklace. Little gold thing around her neck. Has all kinda little” Crowley began to gesture with hands as though he was writing and scribbling onto a piece of paper. Azirphale watched him curiously, waiting for more of an explanation, but was instead met with various noises from Crowley’s mouth that gave no indication as to what he was talking about. 

“Engravings?” Aziraphale offered and Crowley pointed to him in acknowledgement of his genius.

“Engravings! Yes! Little scribbly things” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale pondered for a moment on the necklace, trying to remember if he had ever seen it on his little human friend before. “Oh!” he shot up from his seat in recognition and Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise “Oh yes! I have seen it! A little gold necklace, it shone like anything”.

“Shone?” Crowley scoffed “It didn’t shine for me”.

“No?” Aziraphale offered, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I saw an aura around it almost, when she first wore it. Must have been a trick of the light”.

“Nn-yeah” Crowley mumbled, sinking further into the lounge. He couldn’t stop thinking about that bloody necklace, and it was bothering him. Why was he so enamoured by it? He had seen plenty of necklaces during his time on Earth, and none of them had caused this much irritation. 

He pushed away the thought that he was, perhaps, enamoured by you and that is why he was so curious about the necklace. He pushed that thought away because that was another issue of irritation. Why did he feel so drawn to you the minute you had spun into that backroom. When Aziraphale had asked him to leave, he didn’t want to go. You must have felt the same way, as you practically begged him to stay. Yet, the two of you hadn’t even spoken yet. None of it made sense. 

“Do you think it’s something...otherworldly?” Aziraphale questioned, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Otherworldly how?” Crowley asked.

“Something dropped from Heaven, or grown from Hell” Aziraphale offered.

“Yes but if it was, why couldn’t I read the language of the engravings?”.

“Maybe you weren’t meant to understand it” Aziraphale said and Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of the Middle Eastern ‘Hamsa’ or perhaps the Greek ‘Mati’” Aziraphale said.

“Yes, of course angel. Can barely get near those things without getting a slight tan” Crowley replied.

“Well, perhaps it’s a protective amulet. It would be of no use to the wearer if the evil it wished to thwart was able to understand what was thwarting it”

“Where the Hell would she have gotten an _Angel Amulet_ ” Crowley mumbled, though more to himself than as a question to the angel. 

“And more importantly, why does she have it?” Aziraphale replied nonetheless, his fingers lightly tapping his chin in thought. “Did she tell you where she bought it?”.

“Said it was her Great- Grandmothers, some lady gave it- OH!” Crowley jumped up from the lounge, pacing in front of it. Aziraphale watched him eagerly, waiting for his explanation once again and praying this time one actually came. “That makes a lot of sense, I mean why would you just randomly give someone a gold necklace?”.

“I’m sorry, what?” Aziraphale asked, once again confused by the demon’s antics. 

The demon stopped his pacing and smiled at the angel, beginning to explain his revelation.

~~~

The next afternoon, you made your way to Mr. Fell’s bookstore, as you always did. You hurried along a little quicker than you usually did. You couldn’t help ponder the possibility of running into the tall, slim man you had met the day before. Whilst you would normally would have felt a bit embarrassed over how you had acted the afternoon before, this morning you instead felt a kind of glee and excitement when you thought about Mr. Crowley. He had been such an angel, making sure you got home safe and helping you to your front door.

You wondered how long he and Mr. Fell had been friends. They seemed quite comfortable around each other, from what you had observed, and he had seemed particularly upset when the man had left for those few weeks. 

They appeared to be around the same age, though you couldn't say what that age was. They were definitely older than you were. Despite this, Mr. Fell had a much more vintage presence than his counterpart. When you spoke to Mr. Fell, you felt like you had been dropped off into the late 19th century for the few hours you were with him. Reading and discussing 18th century books in the candlelight of his old shop. When you spoke to Crowley, however, you felt much more modern. That is not to say that he was a modern man by any means, but you at least felt like you were in the 20th century, perhaps the 1970’s at the latest. It was an odd feeling to receive from two 21st century men, but you couldn’t complain. Both of them made you feel a warm, comfortable-ness that you hadn’t felt in a long time, perhaps since childhood. 

You entered the shop and made your way to the backroom, finding both men sitting and chatting, your more well-known friend drinking a cup of tea, as he often did.

He said your name with a wide smile as he watched you enter the room and patted the seat next to him on the lounge. You practically threw yourself down onto the lounge, exhausted from your day.

“Would you perhaps like a cup of tea?” Mr. Fell asked and you nodded, smiling appreciatively at him. 

“Yes please, Azira~” you said and he looked at you with furrowed brows for a moment, before humming to himself and leaving you alone with your newer friend.

“How’s your head?” Mr. Crowley spoke, smirking at you. 

You decided to ignore all possible innuendos related to the question before answering “I woke up feeling like someone had played soccer with it, if you really want to know”.

The man let out a quick breath of air from his nose, which you assumed was his version of a giggle, and shook his head “I apologise for being a tool of temptation last night”.

You had to force down any bubbling reply, innuendo still lacing his words in a way that could only be described as sinful. You were too old to be laughing at dick jokes. And yet, here you were pulling your smile down into a thin line upon your face as not to laugh in front of the older man. 

“My unraveling was all of my own volition, I promise you” you winked and he smiled, his tongue darting out a moment after to sit upon his front two teeth for only a second before disappearing into his mouth again. 

Was this flirting? Were you flirting? Flirting whilst drunk was one thing, and was something that Mr. Fell, whilst not exactly approving, could be okay with. He even allowed you to flirt with him whilst drunk, though you never got the response you were looking for. You had once made a fairly saucy offer to him and he had simply patted your head, calling you a ‘cute little hairless ape thing, you’. Drunk you had been furious at such an accusation. Your relation to apes was quite distant, thank you very much.

But sober flirting? This was new territory that you never thought you would slither into so easily and so comfortably.

Just as he often did when things were getting interesting, Aziraphale made him way back into the backroom, passing you your tea with a smile. You whispered a thanks as he sat down next to you once again.

You sipped your tea, watching Mr. Fell watch you drink it. You tilted your head, confused at his neverending gaze. “Everything alright, Mr. Fell?” you asked, laughing slightly at this continuing strange interaction. 

“I was just looking at that darling necklace of yours” he assured. “May I?” he asked, extending his hand and expressing his intention. You hummed, allowing him to hold it within his hands and observe it whilst it still hung around your neck. His fingers grazed the skin of your chest lightly as he did so, and you felt goosebumps raise upon your skin in reaction to his touch. 

“Almost shimmers” he mumbled, turning the gold around in his fingers. “Wouldn’t you say, Crowley?”.

The man let out a dissatisfied grunt, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the jewellery “Not to me” he replied.

“Yeah, me neither” you said, confused by the blond man’s statement. 

“And these inscriptions” he said, ignoring both of your replies “they seem so familiar”.

“Maybe you’ve read a book on them” you joked, but the man’s head shot up from its gaze on your necklace and to your eyes. A look of realization graced the man’s features. 

“Oh yes! Yes I have! My dear, would it be possible for me to borrow your necklace for just a few hours. I would love to try and decode it” he asked, his hand still holding the gold. 

“Yeah, of course. Though I’m not sure why you are so interested in it now, I’ve worn this since I first met you” you said.

“Did you? I guess I never really took notice of it” the man replied. 

“Perhaps I could keep her busy” Crowley said, standing up from the chair in which he sat. “We could go have a bite to eat somewhere nice” Crowley spoke this to you now, raising an eyebrow. 

“A date already, Mr. Crowley. We barely even know each other!” you fiend offence, grasping at the fake pearls around your neck. 

“And I plan to get to know you very well tonight” he smirked.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself momentarily. “The necklace?” he said and you quickly removed it from around your neck, handing it to him. He held it tightly within his hand and walked over to a bookshelf marked ‘Classical Literature and Non-fiction”.

“Shall we” Crowley offered his arm and you took it within your own, allowing him to lead you to his Bentley.

~~~

You hadn’t remembered Crowley driving this fast yesterday evening, but as he sped past two police cars (that didn’t so much as give him a vulgar gesture for his speeding), you thought perhaps the details of yesterday’s drive were lost to your memory of his presence - and your undeniable attraction to the man. 

“So, where are you going to be holding me hostage, Mr. Crowley” you said, leaning against the car door slightly so you could stare at him from the passenger's seat.

“You know you can call me Anthony” Crowley said, looking over at you. He had a habit of not answering your questions. He also had a habit of not watching the road. You weren’t sure which bothered you more. “Or you can just call me Crowley, I don’t mind”.

“Just Crowley?” you pondered and then shook your head “No, I don’t think so. Feels too soldier-ish, the whole ‘surname-only’ thing” you replied and he frowned in thought for a moment before humming and turning his gaze back to the road. 

“I thought we might dine at The Ritz” he answered, finally. “At nine, precisely” he feigned an old, posh Southern English accent, rolling his R’s delightfully. 

“The Ritz?” you scoffed “With the way I’m dressed?”.

“You look lovely” he said, but you continued to stare at him in disbelief “They’ll let you in, don't worry. I’ll make sure of it”. 

“Okay~” you replied in a sing-song ‘I-Dont-Think-Thats-Going-To-Happen’ voice. 

You were surprised to find that once you arrived at The Ritz you were led in, with no issue, by a man who smiled a bit too wide. Crowley led you to a table for two and the both of you sat in a comfortable silence as your eyes roamed the decadence of the room. 

“I’ve never been here before, y’know” you said, your eyes still tracing the walls and windows.

“No?” Crowley said, watching you intently with a small (and completely unnoticeable to the human eye) smile. 

“It’s lovely” you said, finally meeting the man’s gaze and smiling back at him. 

Your staring was broken only by a waiter placing glasses of champagne in front of the both of you. When all the niceties of restaurant behaviour was completed (including Crowley allowing you to order whatever you liked at his expense and at your, almost, refusal), you spoke once again. 

“I wonder if Aziraphale has found anything” you said.

“What?” Crowley replied, seeming as though you had just snapped him out of his thoughts. “Oh, you mean with your necklace?”

“Yeah” you said, resting your elbow upon the table and placing your chin within your palm. 

“We will just have to see when we get back, I suppose” he said, and then was struck with an idea so genius he couldn’t believe it had come to him so quickly. 

Crowley shut his eyes for a moment, an action you were unable to notice due to his thick, dark sunglasses shielding the view. He focused, concentrating on the sound of low murmuring within the venue. He felt himself melt into the chair in which he sat as he became the ground, the sky, the waiter who had just brought the two of you your drinks. 

And then he became you.

You suddenly felt strange and a bit distant, your thoughts slightly muddled and the phrase “the angel was right” repeating in your head.

Crowley gasped loudly, a noise you had yet to hear from the man, and you shot up from your slouched position.You shook your head slightly, trying to clear it of the strange feeling. It took a large sip of the very expensive champagne to finally dull the strange thoughts. 

You looked towards the man sitting opposite you and found he was doing the same, finishing his glass in one large gulp. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, looking him up and down.

He nod his head quickly, lifting his glass one more time to get the final drop into his system. “Yeah, yeah. All fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew over there” he pointed in your direction and you spun around to look behind you, seeing a young couple dining. 

“An ex?” you joked and he forced out a laugh. You noticed the strain in it.

“Something like that” he mumbled. 

You were about to question him on this when the waiter returned with your meals.

“Oh thank Go-. Thank Sat-. Thank someone” he said, and began eating as soon as his plate hit the table. You followed his actions cautiously, feeling as though something major had just happened in which you knew nothing about. 

You were somewhat right.

~~~

You arrived back at the bookstore two hours later. Despite the strange start to your evening, you and Mr. Crowley had spent a pleasurable evening together, chatting, eating and drinking (though not drinking as much alcohol as you had drank yesterday, you had later settled for a bottle of sparkling grape juice). You noticed he asked you a lot of questions about yourself and your family, often avoiding questions related to him. He seemed the secretive type, though you thought that assumption may have come purely from his refusal to remove his extremely dark sunglasses, even at night. 

As you entered the bookstore, Aziraphale jumped up from his seat to meet you at the door, taking your coat from you and saying “So good that you are back, I’ve been waiting for the two of you”. 

“Found anything about the necklace” you asked, taking a seat next to Crowley on Aziraphale’s lounge. 

“I did, in fact, yes” he smiled, sitting opposite the two of you. “The language on it is called Linear A”

“Ancient Greek?” Crowley frowned, thinking hard. He hadn’t spent much time in Ancient Greece, though that made no difference to his understanding of any human language. He was quite the polyglot, as any good supernatural being was. 

“I thought nobody had decoded Linear A” you said, looking curiously at Mr. Fell.

He nodded his head, taking the necklace from his waistcoat pocket and holding it in his hand. “Well, almost nobody. Somebody figured it out almost five hundred years ago but died immediately after” Aziraphale rambled before being interrupted. 

“Ironically, he had yelled ‘eureka!’ immediately before croaking” Crowley interjected and Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look.

“How do you know that?” you asked, your gaze shifting between the two of them. 

“A book?” Crowley offered. You stared at him curiously, thinking that if you looked at him long enough, he would give a better explanation. 

“Would you like to know the translation?” Aziraphale interrupted, and you were quickly distracted from the strange amount of knowledge the two men held between them. 

“Of course” you said, sitting on the edge of the lounge, rather keen to hear what messages your great-grandmother’s neighbour had to say via engravings on a necklace. 

“It says ‘Heaven is a place on Earth’ and the-” Aziraphale started and you burst out laughing. Aziraphale stared at you, irritated by your sudden outburst. 

“Heaven is a place on Earth? Like the Belinda Carlisle song?” you said, and started laughing again. 

“Well I’m not familiar with that hymn, though it is quite inaccurate-” Aziraphale began explaining. 

“It’s not a hymn, Aziraphale. It’s a song. An eighties song” Crowley corrected the angel, and Aziraphale huffed slightly, irritated that a simple translation had turned into a joke surrounding his knowledge of pop culture. The angel was generally quite good at understanding pop culture references, so long as they were regarding pop culture of the century of 1850-1950. 

“Hang on” you began to catch your breath, wiping the slight tears that had formed within your eyes. “That necklace is old as shit. Why has it got Belinda Carlisle lyrics engraved into it?”.

“Language!” Aziraphale huffed “ And if you had let me finish, the symbol in the middle of the necklace is an ancient protective symbol. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Oracle of Delphi? Well, this is a symbol that the more archaic Oracles would use to repel the evil eye. The… _lyrics_ … as you called them, was a phrase they would chant to increase its power”.

“So you’re telling me I have a piece of ancient Greece hanging around my neck most days” you replied in disbelief “And the great message it has for me also happens to be the lyrics of a popular eighties song”. 

“Precisely” Aziraphale confirmed, passing the necklace back to you.

“Great song, though” Crowley said quietly. 

You held the necklace out in front of you, inspecting the engravings around it’s edges and the large symbol in the middle. As you went to reposition the necklace within your hands, you felt the chain slide through your fingers, the necklace slipping out of your hand.

Without thinking (as demons rarely do), Crowley reached out his hand, catching the jewellery in his palm. His hand began to smoke, the necklace burning into his skin and the necklace turning into a red colour that could only occur if the gold had been heated by the fire at the centre of the Earth. 

Crowley yelped, dropping the necklace to the floor and pulling his hand close to him. He looked towards you.

Your eyes were wide and your mouth was open. You had no way of explaining to yourself what had just happened. 

You had watched the man’s hand smoke, for God’s sake. Now that the necklace was on the ground, his hand appeared completely normal. He had unclutched it from his chest, and it was reaching out towards you. There were no marks on the skin, no evidence of the quick, violent body horror you had just witnessed. 

Your world seemed to slow down around you. The sound of the two men’s voices were far from you as you stared at the necklace. Were they trying to comfort you, or trying to explain what had just happened? You couldn’t be sure, as their voices muffled and your mind rearranged their words into something unintelligible. 

Suddenly, you heard a snap of fingers and you were out cold, laying calmly in a deep, warm nothingness, away from what you had just witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The history in this is probably a bit iffy. I know a bit about ancient Greece, but not a whole lot (so forgive me history buffs).
> 
> Also, having looked up the ritz's website for the sake of this chapter, I honestly fell in love with the place. I almost cried looking at the menu ahahahahaha. There's only one word to describe it: D E C A D E N C E.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter and please let me know what you think! Comments really motivate me to keep writing cause it feels like someone is actually reading.
> 
> (And thank you to those who left comments on the last chapter! They were all very kind :) )
> 
> ****Also quick note about spelling, I am using UK/Aus/NZ spelling but sometimes I may use American spelling for absolutely no reason other than that I like to switch things up (but mostly because I'm bad at editing and my computer uses American spellcheck sometimes).


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